π’±π‘œπ’Ύπ’Έπ‘’ π’ͺ𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 π’Ÿπ’Ύπ“ˆπ‘’π“ƒπ’»π“‡π’Άπ“ƒπ’Έπ’½π’Ύπ“ˆπ‘’π’Ή

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry

I always heard talk of β€˜what’s meant to be’ told time and time again that life works wonders.

Time after time I’d disagree.
I’d ask,
β€˜Who’s to say what’s meant for me?’

who’s to say I matter so much, so much that there’s a plan out of reach, some divine notion, a greater guidance of sorts… on what grounds do I base such arrogant assumptions?

On what evidence do we assume our lives more worthy than the next…
our lives more righteous than the past?

If the individual is paramount, if β€˜special’ is what we are,
then by what criteria is that marked?
this is all I ask

C6863E33-E917-4FB4-87A6-0D14835DFFC7

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